Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Reflection Game

In the small town of Whitlock, there was a legend that every child knew by heart but feared to test. It was called "The Reflection Game," a simple ritual said to reveal the truth about one's soul. It wasn't the kind of game you played for fun. It was a dare, a challenge whispered during sleepovers, the kind that sent shivers down spines and made kids swear they'd never attempt it. But for seventeen-year-old Mara, it wasn't a game at all—it was an obsession.

Mara had always felt like there was something wrong with her. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but a hollow feeling lingered deep inside her, like a piece of her was missing. She wasn't like the other kids at school, and no matter how hard she tried to blend in, she felt like an outsider. The Reflection Game, she thought, might hold the answers she desperately sought.

Her best friend, Lena, had warned her against it.
"No one really knows what happens if you play," Lena said one cold October afternoon as they sat on Mara's bed. "People say it messes you up—like, forever."
Mara rolled her eyes. "That's just a story parents made up to scare us."
Lena lowered her voice. "It's not. Remember Danny from two years ago? He tried it. He doesn't talk anymore, Mara. He just stares at walls. You want that to happen to you?"

Mara didn't answer. She wanted to brush Lena off, but the truth was, she had already made up her mind. That hollow feeling inside her was eating away at her. She had to know who—or what—she really was.

The instructions for the Reflection Game were simple:

1. Wait until midnight.
2. Sit in front of a mirror in complete darkness, with only a single candle lit.
3. Stare into your reflection and do not break eye contact.
4. When your reflection moves on its own, ask it, "Who am I?"
5. Whatever happens next, you must not leave the mirror until the candle burns out.

If you followed the rules, the legend said, your reflection would show you your true self.

Mara waited until her parents went to bed that night. The house was silent, the kind of quiet that made the smallest sounds—like the creak of the floorboards or the distant hum of the refrigerator—seem unbearably loud. She lit a single white candle and placed it on the bathroom counter. The mirror above the sink was large and slightly warped, the perfect stage for what she was about to do.

As the clock struck midnight, Mara closed the bathroom door and locked it. The air felt heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath. She sat on the cold tile floor, facing the mirror, her legs crossed beneath her. The flickering candlelight cast strange shadows across her face, and for a moment, she wondered if Lena was right.

But it was too late to back out now.

She took a deep breath and stared into her reflection.

At first, nothing happened. Her reflection stared back, its expression blank, its movements perfectly synchronized with her own. The candle's flame swayed gently, and the seconds ticked by like hours.

But then, Mara's heart skipped a beat.

Her reflection blinked.

She didn't.

The air seemed to grow colder as Mara leaned closer to the mirror. Her reflection was smiling now, a slow, unnatural grin that stretched wider than her own face ever could. Her reflection's eyes—her eyes—darkened, the whites fading to black, until they looked like empty voids.

A voice, soft and sweet, filled the room, though Mara's lips didn't move.
"Ask your question."

Her throat tightened. The instinct to run, to smash the mirror and escape, clawed at her mind. But she had come this far. She couldn't stop now.
"Who am I?" she whispered.

The reflection tilted its head, the smile never fading.
"You are me," it said, its voice echoing like it came from somewhere deep below the earth.

Mara shook her head. "What does that mean?"

The reflection's smile widened impossibly, splitting its face like a jagged crack.
"Look closer."

Before Mara could react, the candlelight flared, and the bathroom dissolved around her. The mirror stretched and warped, pulling her reflection closer until it was no longer just a reflection—it was her, standing before her in flesh and blood.

The figure reached out, and Mara flinched, but it was too late. Cold fingers gripped her wrist and pulled her forward, into the mirror.

The world on the other side was not a reflection. It was a void—a vast, endless darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. Mara stumbled, disoriented, as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The air was thick and oppressive, and her own breathing sounded muffled, as if the space itself were swallowing the sound.

Her double stood before her, now identical to her in every way.
"This is who you are," it said, its voice dripping with mockery. "An empty shell. A shadow of something that was never whole to begin with."

"No," Mara said, shaking her head. "That's not true."

The double laughed, a hollow, echoing sound. "Isn't it? You've felt it your whole life, haven't you? That void inside you? That missing piece you could never find?"

Mara tried to back away, but the void seemed to close in around her, suffocating her.
"What are you?" she whispered.

"I'm the part of you that you locked away," the double said, stepping closer. "The part you didn't want to face. The truth. But now that you've found me, you can never leave."

Mara screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the void. The double reached out and placed its hand on her chest, and a cold, searing pain spread through her body. It was as if her very soul was being ripped apart, piece by piece.

Her vision blurred, and she fell to her knees, her strength draining away. The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her was the double's face, grinning down at her with triumph.

When Mara's parents woke up the next morning, they found the bathroom door locked. After forcing it open, they found her sitting in front of the mirror, the candle burned out, her face pale and her eyes empty.

She was alive, but she wasn't Mara anymore.

She didn't speak, didn't move unless someone guided her. She simply stared into the mirror, her reflection perfectly normal—but her parents couldn't shake the feeling that something was staring back at them, something that wasn't their daughter.

And in the quiet of the night, when the house was dark and the world was still, Mara's reflection would smile.